SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

Press, Volume CV, Issue 30953, 8 January 1966, Page 4

SOME OF THE NEW NOVELS

Jest of Darkness. By W. Merle Grayland. Whitcombe and Tombs. 190 pp. A young Maori boy, Buster Henare, has injured an eye and is admitted to the eye ward at Garragon Hospital. Lonely and frightened and unable to see because of pads over both eyes he has the terrifying experience of sensing rather than hearing someone creeping up to his bed. of hands clasping and unclasping almost making the bed sway, and out of the darkness a ghastly whisper in answer to the boy’s frightened appeal: “I’m Dr. Death.” So begins the story of the murder of a patient in Ward SA: and of the strange disappearance of gay and beautiful Jane Doon: and of the old patient nicknamed “Flagon of Beer,” who talks too much, who may have known too much and who is missing too. Inspector Plimsoll is in charge of the case assisted, unofficially, by an old friend Hoani Mata, a young Maori who likes playing detective. The suspense is well sustained and the ends neatly tied up.

This Time of Morning. By Mayantara Sahgal. Gollancz. 223 pp.

This second novel by Mrs Sahgal contains many of the elements which made her autobiography, “Prison and Chocolate Cake” so popular. The first of these elements is her clear unpretentious compassionate style. She never labours a point or emotion and deliberate understatement continually arouses a response in the reader. This is particularly evident in the closing of the novel where the hitherto self-efficient and independent Kalyan, now politically defeated, finds comfort in tie visits of Mita and Rakesh. Mrs Sahgal is Nehru's niece and this novel, like the autobiography, reveals her intimate knowledge of Indian politics. “This Time of Morning” is set in New Delhi where Indian politicians strive for position, face the vast problems of India and remember the ever present past of the struggle for independence and the agony of the partition. The bustle, the frustration and the intrigue of this new city

of Government buildings are cleverly revealed in the characters of numerous officials their wives and families but a multipilicity of characters is in one way a disadvantage for the novel loses some of its effectiveness by attempting to follow too intimately the problems of too many characters. The reader’s interest in each set of characters tends to slacken as the author shifts from one group to another in episodes which are frequently too short to capture the attention entirely. Few of the characters really engage one but there is a notable exception in Kalyan independent. uninvolved, restless; a magnificently drawn and haunting personality. A trifle confusing at times in spite of Mrs Sahgal’s clear style “This Time of Morning” is still worth reading for its insight into Indian psychology and politics.

The Lamp Post. By Martin Gregor-Dellin. Barrie and Rockcliff. 238 pp.

A savage satire on the political structure which rules East Germany, this book tells the story of a schoolmaster, Blumentritt, whose agonies in a Nazi concentration camp during the war have left him with a passionate desire for anonymity and a quiet life. An individualist at heart, he strings along, as best he can in matters of ideological precept, with the authorities of the town of Schochern. But he is obsessed with a dislike of a lamp post outside his allotted quarters (which reminds him poignantly of a gallows) and begs the Mayor to allow him to move to other accommodation, pleading that the noises of the neighbourhood disturb his work. These requests, which are always refused, bring him under the suspicion of the Party, and step by step the situation builds up to tragedy. The details of this sinister progression are sometimes too ludicrous for belief. Blumentritt’s affair with Inez Keil is, like everything else in his private life, known to the authorities who disapprove of irregular unions, but a more serious offence is his desire to have privately printed some copies of a sketch of village life show-

ing a few frogs, a pregnant woman and an angry y° un B man. Permission to print this innocuous fragment is refused on the grounds that it serves no ideological purpose. It is difficult to realise the trivialities which govern the safety of the individual in this network of espionage, denunciation and mutual suspicions. The Mayor, Heiland, eventually reveals to Blumentritt his reason for his tyrannous actions, and in trying to save Heiland from the mob during a brief revolt. Blumentritt seals his own fate. Only an impassioned hatred of the regime could have been responsible for the composition of this grim story. It is translated from the German by Richard and Clara Winston.

The Egyptologists. By Kingsley Amis and Robert Conquest. Cape. 255 pp.

Starting with the scurrilous dust-jacket, a heartless and expert wit races to a sad discovery: the Metropolitan Egyptological Society has allowed itself to be used by whose whom it was intended to deceive. To begin with, the Society’s purposes are shrouded in mystery which thickens like a Christchurch fog. Police investigations, and even the probings of a mobile television interviewer, are expertly parried by Article 22 of the Constitution. But the Society is unmasked by the innocent curiosity of the members’ wives. In fact these good ladies give their husbands a lot of trouble: “You mustn’t let him tyrannise over you. . . . After all, there should be some give-and-take in every marriage. Shouldn’t there, darling?" “Of course,” said Isham. A ribald humour ranges between broad carnal delight, and a subtlety that yields delighted understanding. The book depends on verbal humour, and dialogue is important. But though the characters are all more or less eccentric, none of them shows much individuality. (“There’s one important characteristic shared between all the members of the; Society. . . • “Neurosis?” said Mrs Isham, apparently at random.) Four of them remain simply identified as “the President," “the Secretary,” “the Treasurer,” and “the Superintendent.” Of course, this does not matter. The book is genuinely funny —and original. As well as television the police and scholarly behaviour have to endure a few nasty jabs: “His rendering of ‘bewildered innocence’ would have aroused the suspicions of a public-relations officer or even a sociologist, let alone someone who knew his way about the world. The police had probably just thought he was barmy.” A few episodes of arson and taxipinching, in the best “Lucky Jim” manner, also keep the action moving.

The Last Believers. By David Karp. Jonathan Cape. 308 pp.

Mr Karp’s novel is concerned with the problem of idealism in a world which remains uninstructable. Gerald Arthur Leitz, better known as G. Arthur Cameron, the successful playwright, is alarmed to discover that his

son, Ahram, along with some other young people, is preparing tn renounce his American citizenship in protest against nuclear armaments. Abram belongs to a Student Peace Committee, an organisation which his father believes is controlled by Communists. In an effort to make Abram change his mind, the father describes his own progress from youth ful idealism to a hard-won understanding that there cannot be just one way to heaven. As a youth, Leitz joined the Communist Party because he believed that it alone could provide a remedy for the injustice and suffering of the depression. But very soon he became troubled by the intolerant fanaticism, intellectual dishonesty and lack of compassion in the Communists he met: and final disillusion[ment came for him, as for I many other American communists of his generation, in the Soviet-German pact of 1940 His narrative does not alter Abram in his resolve, but it does at least persuade him to dissociate himself from the political strategies of his group, and to make his stand as an individual. The novel provides an interesting insight into the political atmosphere of the thirties in America, and some of the minor characters are well drawn. Abram, however, is an over-sentimentalised figure —too much the dedicated American youth, and too little of a human being. The book is also marred by an unpleasant didacticism. G. Arthur Cameron’s intolerance of Communists as “people without the basic emotions," and of all those who press for nuclear disarmament as “death-lovers,” hoping for an all-encompassing holocaust, do little to establish one’s faith in Mr Karps image of the liberal American.

Two Minutes From the Sea. By Myrna Blumberg. Mac Gibbon and Kee. 163 pp.

This novel has an unusual theme in its background. Basically it Is the story of the effect of a balanced, intellectual, loveless home life on a sensitive girl, and of a threemonth prison sentence on her already pathetic insecurity. Lucy Jenner finds that she has lost all her identity in the face of the brutality and discipline of the prison. A sophisticated, cynical newspaper photographer is attracted by her gauche charm and her lively intelligence, and their association is fascinating material. He too is hungry for affection in an entirely different way, but he cannot cope with her insatiable desire to be dominated. Myrna Blumberg is a brilliant observer of human beings. She shows herself to be acutely conscious of mannerisms, gestures, voice tones, and physical feelings, and she describes these and many other details of her characters with superlative clarity and originality. It is very satisfying to read the work of an author who can convey such a wealth of meaning with her scrupul-ously-selected phrases.